Living Under Political Abuse: A Personal Account from Türkiye
It is one of my hasty mornings: rushing out of the shower, dressing half-wet, and chasing the clock as if punctuality could redeem the day. I didn’t bother to check how much was left on my transport card. Surely enough, I thought, at least three figures. The machine disagrees. The red light blinks its verdict: insufficient. The buzz is annoying, but it’s no longer an embarrassment. I don’t take it personally.
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